


Sturm und Drang

by milkdaze (flowerstems)



Series: queen of hearts [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerstems/pseuds/milkdaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Laurel wakes up and wants to see the world burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sturm und Drang

One day, Laurel wakes up and feels numb. 

She feels as though time has run its course and there's nothing left for her, as though she has slept a thousand years and woken up with nothing and no one. In a sense, she has.

_Laurel Lance, always trying to save the world._

That's what her father said, a few months or years ago. No, she doesn't think the world can be saved, not anymore. What she wants is something realistic, she wants to make a difference. It's a goal, but she's had so many of those and lost almost all of them. What is she supposed to do with goals now?

Her goals, her dreams, they feel hollow in the space she had lovingly carved out for them in her chest. Now, all she has is an empty space and nothing to fill it with. 

Nothing but a fire. It starts with small embers she never acknowledges until they burn her from the inside and leave her with rage. Teeth grinding, knuckle busting rage that gives her a scream-hoarse voice and all the anger she can ever need to fill the hollow of her chest to the brim.

It's all she feels.

It's all she feels ever since the sea opened up its depths, like jaws, greedy and wide and unforgiving, and swallowed her baby sister and the man she loves—loved—whole. It's all she feels ever since their—her—mother left them without a warning or a letter, and her father spends more time at the precinct and the city's bars than at home.

Laurel moves into her own apartment soon enough. She throws herself headlong into her work.

Laurel is angry, angry all the time, but she thinks in a quiet corner of her mind that she's better off than Tommy. Tommy who’s gone pale in his skin, in his spirit, in his bones; Tommy who's chasing a ghost around the world, he says he's heading to Shanghai because Oliver is there, he _knows_ it.

Whatever Tommy knows, whatever he thinks he knows, Laurel won’t stop him. If that’s the one thing he knows then this is the one thing Laurel knows: she’s alone and angry and everything she's built up throughout her life has fallen apart just like that.

 

* * *

 

One day, Laurel Lance meets Felicity Smoak.

She's working a lawsuit and Mrs. Queen lets her come into the company's building every once in a while to access locked files with the evidence (and the blackmail) she needs, without leaving a trail to Laurel’s doorstep.

Today, the smooth flow of her greet, get files, chat and leave process is interrupted by a blonde who's occupying the computers and chewing on a red pen almost as bright as her lipstick.

The first thing Laurel thinks is she should have come after hours, the way she usually does, but then she thinks she can make this work because she's Laurel Lance.

“Excuse me,” Laurel starts, clearing her throat when there isn't so much of a twitch in response. The woman continues typing quickly and Laurel scans the desk—stationery, papers, external drives, files, nameplate. “Excuse me, Miss Smoak?”

“What is it—” The woman swivels quickly in her chair, eyes wide as she pulls the pen out of her mouth. “Oh—oh my God, you're a good friend of my boss. I’m so sorry, I wasn't trying to be rude or anything.” She speaks in a staccato rhythm and stops abruptly, looks as though she's scolding herself before adjusting her glasses and answering, “Yes, I'm Miss Smoak. Well, Felicity Smoak, just call me Felicity.”

“I'm Laurel. Laurel Lance,” Laurel extends her free hand and Felicity shakes it briskly before letting go and urging her to continue with little nods. “I was just hoping I could use your computer to find some files? For work, of course.”

“Why don't I help you? I mean, not to brag or anything but,” Felicity spins a little in her chair, keeping her eyes fixed on Laurel and smiling this cocky little smile as she says, “I'm kind of a pro with computers. Bet I can find what you need in two minutes.”

Laurel wants to ask what makes her so confident, as though whatever Laurel could need was child’s play to acquire. She wants to know how Felicity would react when she realises Laurel wants locked files, heavy files, files that can put targets on whoever accesses them. So she does.

And Felicity is, surprisingly, very excited to access these files, let Laurel look over her shoulder to see that she did indeed access the exact files Laurel requested, and remind Laurel that she did it in under two minutes. 

Within the first ten minutes of meeting Felicity Smoak, Laurel takes a liking to her.

“Well done,” Laurel says, smile on her lips for the first time that week since she saw Thea, and picks up the copies of the files Felicity so kindly printed for her, tucking them into her folder.

“Thanks.” Felicity beams and starts spinning in her chair again, little fractions of circles that keep her legs and hips occupied as she fiddles with her red pen and talks to Laurel, gaze excited and unwavering. “It was fun, most fun I've had in weeks.”

“Really?” Felicity nods and Laurel picks up a pen and scribbles her number on a loose sheet of paper. “Well, I always need files like these, and you're obviously much better at getting them than I am.” She slides the page across the desk, lips quirked, “So maybe we can help each other out?”

“Is this a business offer?”

“It'll be a very flexible working relationship?”

“Sounds fun,” Felicity says, picking up the sheet of paper and folding it into a neat little square that she tucks away. She uncaps her red pen, pulls out a yellow sticky note and writes a phone number on it then gets up to stick it on the corner of Laurel’s folder. “I look forward to your call.”

Laurel makes an adjustment her usual process, she changes the visiting time to: during working hours.

 

* * *

 

Laurel calls Felicity the next day, not to ask for files, but to say thank you because we came out on top, a certain criminal is about to do his time. “It's thanks to you, Felicity.”

Felicity sounds surprised to hear this—surprised for the thanks, the realisation that Laurel is an attorney, all of it. Laurel decides they need to meet up and talk, clear up any misunderstandings.

So they meet at a little electronics shop a week later, because it's nestled perfectly between Queen Consolidated and CNRI, and it's the only place Felicity can get to, aside from her apartment, without getting lost.

Laurel gives Felicity a tour of Starling City because, “I might as well. Besides, I'm not a big fan of staring at gadgets.”

Felicity scoffs as though she's been offended, but, “Fine, I've only looked at every gadget in there about two hundred times anyway.”

Laurel learns a lot about Felicity in the first thirty minutes of their tour, mostly because Felicity ends up saying more than she intends to without realising it until it's ‘too late’. She also learns Felicity thought she was some kind of white collar criminal.

“You thought I was,” Laurel can't even finish the thought, because it was something she has never considered, and because, “you thought I was a criminal, but you helped me anyway?”

“I thought you were, like,” Felicity presses her lips together and looks around, a though the strangers on the sidewalk can give her the answer she wants, “a dark anti-hero, doing bad for the good of the innocent!” 

Huh.

“You think I can pull that off?”

Felicity nods, adjusts her glasses and smiles, “Damn right I do, and I could be your right-hand girl.”

They laugh about it and continue with their personal tour, but the thought sticks to the back of Laurel’s mind like gum, the kind that sticks to even the blade of the scissors that tries to scrape it away. It stays.

 

* * *

 

Time passes, Felicity is still her partner in crime, helping her finally make a difference, a difference Laurel couldn't make alone, and meeting with Felicity has become as easy as meeting Thea or Joanna. It's natural and it can happen anywhere in Starling, though Laurel is sure Felicity has a soft spot for that little electronics store tucked away between their workplaces. So they meet up there on weekends.

Maybe four or five months after they met (five months, two days, Laurel knows like she knows few other dates) they hold hands for the first time. Not the way they usually link arms and grab each other's hands, but the warm grip of interlocked fingers, she can't stop noticing the way Felicity’s fingers feel so nice between her own, and the quiet knowledge of, “I'm really glad I met you, Laurel.”

“I’m glad I met you, Felicity.”

Felicity laughs and insists, “No, really. You make this city feel like my home.”

Laurel looks at Felicity then, her eyes as bright as they were months ago, her smile that lovely shade of pink, and Laurel squeezes her hand as she says, “You've made it my home again.” And for the first time in a long time, she believes every word of what she's saying.

 

* * *

 

Felicity, Laurel thinks, is one of the best things to ever happen to Starling, to her. She makes the hollow space in her chest feel full, full of warmth, of little tendrils of emotion that curl up around the frame of that space in her chest. As though vines were growing, flowers soon to bloom, and every time she so much as thinks about Felicity, she feels that warmth grow fuller and fuller in her chest.

But there's still that numbness, that burning rage, and no matter how many times Felicity tells her it's okay, “It'll be okay,” Laurel worries that raging fire will burn the flowers Felicity planted in her chest, and she treasures those flowers more than she treasures her healed broken wrists, the scars, the bruising.

No matter what Laurel does, no matter how many boxing or self-defence classes she takes, no matter how many times she puts on a ski mask and goes out into the night with a baseball bat, not matter how many cases she helps close, how many innocents she somehow saves like that, it's not enough.

The numbness somehow gets worse, the rage doesn't quell.

It all feels so hopeless some nights, but then Felicity will caress a bruise from boxing class, or kiss her temple after a case, and Laurel feels like there is a way to keep living. Felicity gives her a way.

 

* * *

 

One day, Laurel wakes up and wants to see the world burn.

She wants corporate buildings on fire. She wants the headquarters of corrupt politicians falling apart in smoke and soot. She wants the metal skeleton of the Triad’s hideout to be sticking out of their building in unnatural ways.

Laurel stays in bed, unmoving, and stares at the ceiling. What she wants, she knows deep down in the hollow of her chest, is destruction—but she demands destruction with taste, destruction she can control.

She wants justice, justice that can save everyone, justice that can quell this rage and make a difference.

She plans to get it.

 

* * *

 

One day, Laurel asks Felicity as she lays sprawled along her couch, her head in Felicity’s lap and Felicity’s fingers in her hair, “If I wanted the world to burn, what would you do?”

Felicity pauses, looks at Laurel to gauge whether she's serious, then continues running her fingers through her hair, “I would help you set fire to it.”

Laurel sits up, turns to face Felicity, and takes Felicity’s hands into her own, “Would you really?”

“Mhm,” Felicity hums, leaning into the small space between them to press a kiss to Laurel’s pout, “you doubt me?”

“No.” Laurel squeezes Felicity’s hands in hers gently then asks, “Remember when you said you thought I could pull off the, uh, anti-hero thing?” Felicity chuckles but nods, waiting for Laurel to continue. “Do you still think I could?”

“Damn right I do,” Felicity leans in and bumps their noses together, eyes alight like the city’s streetlights and Laurel needs to keep her safe, “and I could be your right-hand girl.”

Laurel smiles so wide her cheeks hurt and she can't get her mouth on Felicity’s fast enough, can't kiss her fast enough, can’t tell her how amazing she is and how in love she is fast enough. 

 

* * *

 

The first few nights are spread out sparse, like the good people in this city, and are just as rough—Laurel gets more than she can give and Felicity helps her patch herself up before kissing her soft on the mouth and saying, “It’s good, Laurel, you’re good.”

Laurel is stubborn, and Felicity stands beside her, tracking the police radio and updating Laurel, giving her options. Options that Laurel takes, in ascending order, and sooner than later Laurel’s baseball bat and ski mask become symbols of fear and rebellion in Starling.

She hardly feels numb anymore, and every time she swings her bat, every time she hears a criminal’s bones break, sees a would-be mugger’s blood splatter across the pavement, she feels that rage whittle away. She doesn't kill them, Felicity doesn't want her to. 

Every morning, after she washes off the dirt and blood, cleans her nails and brushes her teeth, she goes to Felicity’s apartment and watches the news: killers arrested, corruption confessed, woman in black an infection or a cure? 

Felicity sits beside her, still yawning and blinking sleep out of her eyes, dozing against Laurel's shoulder, but she's always awake enough to hum a sleepy, “My hero,” and kiss Laurel’s cheek. 

Laurel pulls her close, lets Felicity rest her head on Laurel’s lap, and runs her fingers through Felicity’s newly dyed hair fondly. “Couldn't do it without my right-hand girl,” Laurel coos, brushing her lips over Felicity’s temple, earning a lazy smile in response.

“You could,” Felicity says after a while. Laurel frowns and doesn't know what to say. Felicity turns and pushes Laurel until she's sprawled on the couch under Felicity. She nuzzles the crook of Laurel’s neck, littering butterfly kisses over a purple bruise spread long across Laurel’s neck and chest. “You could, but it wouldn't be as fun without me.”

Laurel laughs and pulls Felicity up for a good morning kiss. Felicity’s right, as she usually is; without Felicity, Laurel wouldn't have this much fun.

Without Felicity, Laurel wouldn’t have this warmth filling up her chest, she wouldn't have flowers blooming on vines and filling up the space carved out in her chest for goals and dreams. 

She glances outside an open window to see dawn spread cool and comforting over Starling, the sunlight barely enough to warm the city. “It's too early for you to be right.”

**Author's Note:**

> I like writing pre-season one Arrow stuff.  
> Flarrow femslash week-Tuesday: Canon Divergence/Alternate Universe AND/OR Partners in Crime AU.


End file.
